So my mom dropped me off at the mall for “twenty minutes, tops” while she ran to Target. Twenty minutes turned into an hour and seventeen. I have no regrets.
I walked in and immediately got hit with that smell. You know the one. Like a thousand perfume samples had a party and never cleaned up. It’s chaos but it’s my kind of chaos.
First stop, obviously, was the new release wall. There’s something about a fresh display with the little “NEW” stickers that makes my brain short-circuit. I don’t need six lip oils. I do not need them. And yet.
A sales associate named Priya came up while I was swatching everything on my hand like a lunatic. She had the most perfect skin I’ve ever seen in person, glowy but not greasy, and I basically asked her to be my personal skincare guru on the spot. She was so patient with me even though I was clearly just a broke teenager touching everything.
I told her my whole skin backstory. The breakouts, the one time I tried a random TikTok hack and my face turned red for three days, all of it. She recommended a gentle cleanser and this vitamin C serum that she said would actually make a difference instead of just smelling nice. I trust her. She works there. She’s seen things.
Then came the blush aisle, which is genuinely dangerous territory for me. I have a problem. I own probably nine blushes and I still stood there for twenty minutes deciding between two shades that were basically identical. One was called “Cloud Nine” and the other was “Dreamy.” Same color. Different vibes apparently. I got Dreamy because the name spoke to me.
The Fenty section was packed, like always. Some girl next to me was doing a full face on the back of her hand, going shade by shade with total confidence, and I just stood there admiring her commitment. Respect.
I also made the mistake of walking past the perfume section. Mistake because I now want a $140 bottle of something called Baccarat Rouge that I cannot afford and will be thinking about for weeks. It smells like money and bad decisions. Ten out of ten.
By the time I got to checkout my basket had somehow grown to include a serum, a blush, two lip oils I definitely didn’t plan on, and a sample of that perfume tucked in like a little gift to myself. The cashier scanned everything and said “ooh good choices” which honestly made my whole week.
My mom texted asking where I was and I said “coming” while still standing at the register debating whether I needed the mini setting spray too. I did not need it. I got it anyway.
Walked out with my little black bag feeling like a completely different person than the one who walked in. Isn’t that the whole point though? A tiny bag of stuff that costs way too much but makes you feel unstoppable for the rest of the day.
Anyway. Ask me in two weeks if I actually use half of this. The answer is probably not. But right now, in this moment, Dreamy blush and I are in a committed relationship and nothing can convince me otherwise.